Blossoms and Shadows
by Rhodanum
Summary: The blood-stained blade, the wise gaze, the old sorrows and the journey for atonement belong to a swordswoman unlike any other. In times of great change, social norms are as nothing and the willing must carry the burden.  Fem!Kenshin / Yuri
1. phoenix on a dusty road

**Disclaimer:** All characters and settings portrayed in this work of fiction belong to _Nobuhiro Watsuki_, _VIZ Media, Shueisha_. I'm merely fooling around with the characters and will put them back with as little wear and tear as possible.  
><strong>Collection Title:<strong> _.blossoms and shadows_  
><strong>Chapter Title:<strong> _.phoenix on a dusty road_  
><strong>Character(s):<strong> Himura Kenshin, Yukishiro Tomoe  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T (PG-13). Rating may go up in later chapters.  
><strong>Prompt:<strong> _**fc-smorgasbord**_ prompt _.81 –- unguarded touch_.  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> All of these chapters are set within the confines of the _**Blossoms and Shadows**_ universe, within the canon of _**Rurouni Kenshin**_. What if the feared hitokiri Battousai, the wise, kindhearted wanderer and the lost, grieving child had been a woman, in those times of war and sweeping change? This is my humble answer to the lack of decent fem!Kenshin stories, especially ones that don't jump through hoops in order to avoid writing same-sex relationships between women.  
><strong>Warnings:<strong>disjointed stream-of-consciousness narrative ahoy.

* * *

><p><strong>Otsu, Genji 1 (1864)<strong>

And even as they stood there, on that dirt path in the middle of a world that was so different from what she had always known to be rock-steady certainty, Tomoe couldn't help but think of only one creature - a phoenix, as oddly graceful and stylized as it had been on the exquisite artworks from the _Heian-jidai_that she had learned of as the child of a samurai. Only this phoenix was all too real - a woman of flesh and bone and sinew and muscle and little steps on those high, wooden geta, instead of an inked drawing on a piece of paper.

She hadn't smiled for Kiyosato Akira-sama and he had died a horrid death at this man-woman-child-girl's hands; she couldn't smile now either, but her eyes were soft as she looked at the girl putting one foot before the other and struggling not to let the obi's weight throw her off balance. Wood and amber and lacquer ornaments gleamed in her fiery hair and the setting sun played on the swirling patterns of her red kimono, the hemline a jagged horizon of mountains lit by an equally dazzling sunset of oranges and pinks and violets. The dark-ocher obi tied into the large _fukura-suzume _of an unwed girl filled out her back and made it seem as if she would stretch out silk wings and fly away into the skies - and once again Tomoe was reminded of the phoenix of old.

But then there was a scuffling sound and the impression was ruined as the man-woman-girl-child-hitokiri-murderer - _Himura Kenshin_, she reminded herself quietly - took a wrong step and wobbled in place, arms wheeling around in an effort to keep her steady, the furisode's long sleeves flying every which way. And whereas the phoenix had been quietly awe-inspiring, Himura Kenshin struggling to walk to a festival in proper kimono was strangely endearing. One long-fingered hand reached out on rare impulse, touching a cloth-wrapped shoulder, steadying in its own way. Two pairs of eyes met each other as they both stood there, frozen in that one moment - names and pretenses thrown to the wind, just two young women lost in this maelstrom of uncertainty and lies and fading violence and learning how to live again.

Even with all the festival finery weighing them down, for one heartbeat they were as open and unguarded with each other as they had been in that small room, when naked steel had glinted close to a pale throat.

"Arigatou."

Softly spoken, the harsh angles on her face now banished, the softness of a smile teasing at the corners of her lips, as Kenshin bowed her head slightly and the straightened her back with a look of determination in her eyes. They were quiet as they walked together, but their thoughts flew with the evening winds and Tomoe would later think to herself that a master of the sword could walk with the same grace as a geisha when it was truly necessary.


	2. lies of omission

**Disclaimer: **All characters and settings portrayed in this work of fiction belong to _Nobuhiro Watsuki, VIZ Media, Shueisha._ I'm merely fooling around with the characters and will put them back with as little wear and tear as possible.  
><strong>Collection Title:<strong> ._blossoms and shadows_  
><strong>Chapter Title:<strong> _.lies of omission_  
><strong>Character(s):<strong> Himura Kenshin, Kamiya Kaoru  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T (PG-13). Rating may go up in later chapters.  
><strong>Prompt:<strong> _**fc-smorgasbord**_ prompt _.82 –- jumbled truths._  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Kenshin and Kaoru's meeting comes with an added shock on top of everything else.

* * *

><p><strong>Tokyo, Meiji 11 (1878)<strong>

"_Don't worry, Kaoru-dono. This unworthy one will take care of everything here. You can go and bring the police to handle this."_

It had been an unassuming offer – but even someone as high-strung as her in those moments was able to hear the quiet reassurance within it. No lies, no tricks, no attempts to walk out the door and leave her silently fretting as to whether he would or wouldn't come back after alerting the authorities. And in that moment, Kamiya Kaoru was entirely grateful to this smiling, tattered wanderer, sitting in the middle of her wrecked dojo. She had been free to walk out and breathe out a little bit easier, releasing some of the tension as she went.

Of course, that hadn't done much for the memories, now that the adrenaline sustaining her was starting to wear off and the root of her agitation was becoming clear.

For the third time in her life, Kamiya Kaoru had been angry with her honored father. The first times were shadowed memories of tears, fear of the uncertain and gripping the _shinai_ so hard that the skin had peeled off her fingers when she had finally set it down. They had both been times when he had left her – memories of his tall, broad back in the light flooding from the doorway, as he had stepped out onto the engawa. She had cried when he left for Kyoto and he had chided her for it, so the second time she hadn't allowed her tears to fall for weeks, even as she had held that small, damning letter in a death-grip.

_'This letter has been sent to inform you that your honored father, Kamiya Koshijirou...'_

Empty words, meant to soothe the loss of a parent dead in senseless violence, killed by the very swords that he had sought to tame and turn into weapons of protection. And even though she hadn't wept at first, Kaoru had been angry, allowing the fury to carry her forward, into days of uncertainty and nights of absolute loneliness. He had left her twice and the second time he hadn't bothered to return.

Her anger hadn't broken easily – yet when it finally did, she had allowed the tears to come, she had straightened her shoulders and she had turned back to the students who had been too afraid of provoking their quietly intense _sensei_ by somehow getting in her way.

The third time had been far worse, because her emotions had been stirred by a lie, not a leave of absence. Kaoru hated dishonesty with all of the unrelenting certainty of someone used to being an open book for others. And that lie had been some form of abandonment as well, because Kaoru had always through that she could trust her father's words, his wry anecdotes and his wise, world-weary counsel. She could still remember that chilly late-autumn evening, the old friends drinking far too much sake, her father growing more stern and disapproving by the second. And then they had launched into ribald stories of old conquests and feats with the sword and nights when it had rained blood on the narrow streets of Kyoto.

The raucous laughter and the attempts to scare each other with nightmarish tales of an assassin of legend had come to an abrupt stop, as her father's still-full sake bowl had come crashing down on the table. The shouts of surprise mingled with his angry retort then and Kaoru couldn't be certain just what he had said to put them all in their places. Yet one phrase was forever branded in her mind, as she had rushed in to take care of the mess, glaring at that whole lot and wishing that she could throw them out on their ears.

"_Sh—He was never a demon. Never a wanton murderer. Just a youth who was as utterly lost as us in that madness and bloodshed."_

How odd that her father had been more scandalized by a slight to the character of one such as the _Hitokiri Battousai_, instead of the tales about violence and bedding every woman in sight.

His voice had caught on something, then, but that whole lot had been far too drunk to notice. The memory was old and her shock at hearing her father speaking of those dark days kept Kaoru from properly remembering what followed, aside for grumbled replies later on and some half-embarrassed apologies for the spilled sake on their wooden floors. She hadn't asked for more clarification, heart clenching at the sight of her father's pained expression that evening, as he had sat on the engawa, staring morosely up at the sky, lost in memories of the past. She had seated herself by his side and it had warmed her immeasurably when his calloused fingers hadn't pulled back from the touch meant to soothe him. Kaoru hadn't asked anything, even though her curiosity had burned at the contradiction to everything she had known as fact when the strongest of the _Ishin Shishi_ was concerned.

So it was no surprise that anger at such a blatant lie had burned in her chest as she had raced through the deserted streets of Tokyo on that chilly winter morning, even before the sun had risen. Not a wanton murderer... then _what_ had all of that been? What were those gruesome murders that had sullied the honor of the _Kamiya Kasshin Ryu_, an honor built over almost a decade of dedicated work and unrelenting faith in the peaceful nature of the new era? She had thrown all caution to the wind then, pushed into a heated fervor by old aches that hadn't quite healed properly and the damning knowledge that her father had lied in favor of a monster.

_'Did you know him, chichioya? Did you know him in those days when** I** didn't know whether you would ever come home in one piece?'_

Kamiya Koshijirou had spoken in that moment as if he _had_ known the legendary _hitokiri_ – and this had, in turn, made the anger in Kaoru's chest burn all the more fiercely when she had finally assaulted that small, red-haired man and then ended up risking her life against the giant swordsman proclaiming himself as _Battousai of Kamiya Kasshin Ryu_ to all and sundry.

And once again, her anger had been broken – only this time it had taken only a soft, regretful smile and a whispered apology, as the remains of a legal deed stained with her blood fluttered all around them.

"_Moushiwake gozaimasen, Kaoru-dono. This one didn't wish to hide the truth. It is just usually better if all of this isn't known."_

Another lie – one of omission. But she hadn't been angry – couldn't hope to be be angry when those soft eyes had held her own with such quiet sorrow. There had been old regrets there – ones that made the memory of her fears look entirely childish by comparison. The rurouni's regret had been only compounded by the dishonesty of not revealing who he had been when they had first met – even if it would have likely resulted in her trying to drag him off to the nearest police station or beat him senseless with his own strange sword. It had softened the sting of Kaoru's emotions towards her own father – because she could tell that there had been no lie in his words so long ago. Whatever the tales spoke of as far as Hitokiri Battousai was concerned, most of the rumours were entirely different from the truth in this day and age.

Those melancholy eyes and that _sakabatou_ and the dozen groaning, bruised men on her dojo floor were the strongest points of proof she needed.

"_I'm not asking Battousai to stay! I'm asking you, the rurouni–!"_

They had been words spoken on impulse, but now Kaoru didn't find herself regretting them, as she escorted the police officer and his colleagues towards the dojo's front gate. Anger had let way to something warm and far too peaceful, considering the fact that her home was filled with unconscious men and one of them had been driven through the floor had enough to make a small crater.

It didn't matter. She was home now and no lies, no loss awaited her.

"This way, Muraki-san."

Softly muttered curses from the police officers met the sight within her dojo – followed by hasty apologies to the lady, ones that Kaoru easily brushed off as she walked among the sprawled bodies. That giant of a man had been hauled out of the floor and had been set to lie on his back, a massive purple bruise in the shape of a sword decorating his forehead. Her eyes sought and easily found the rurouni – _Kenshin_ – among the groaning mass of humanity, kneeling at the side of an injured man and holding a cool piece of cloth to his bruised head.

"This one advises that you don't move until a doctor sees you. You have a concussion."

The rustling of her hakama drew that blue gaze up and she was rewarded with another one of those smiles that Kaoru had least expected to see on the face of a man carrying memories that had so often kept her father awake on the engawa, with a cup of tea in front of him.

But there was no place for reminiscence and wonderment – officer Muraki took charge of everything when he came out of his shock and Kaoru found that both she and her red-haired guest were the targets of a seemingly endless barrage of questions. _'What, when, how why'_ – it was all easy enough to answer, as she listened to Kenshin softly explain how he had learned of the plot to strip the ownership rights from her when he had visited that den of rogues. However, the assistant master of Kamiya Kasshin Ryu found traces of indignation making their way to the surface when suspicion suddenly shifted to the patch-worn wanderer and his motives for getting involved in all of this.

"And just what did Himura-san stand to gain from helping Kamiya-san in this?"

A shadow flickered over his features then – she was certain of it. The darkness of an old memory, perhaps. A ghost of that revolution that was only spoken of in whispers by those who had carried the burden of bloodshed so long ago.

"Her honored father fought by this one's side a long time ago," was the simple answer that Kenshin provided, meeting the officer's gaze levelly, airy smiles and high-pitched _'oros'_ and awkward hand-gestures all gone, replaced with a quiet, almost grieving intensity. "Perhaps Kamiya Koshijirou-san's spirit carried this one here, so that this lowly one might help his child in her time of greatest need."

And then there was another smile – gentle and self-deprecating and so very honest in its sadness for her loss that it had left Kaoru reeling.

_'Did you know him well, Kenshin? Did you protect him in that time of bloodshed and violence? Did you make certain that he could return home to me?'_

She didn't ask the burning questions – there would be another time, when she would be able to properly breathe around him again. When there wasn't a dozen pair of carefully scrutinizing eyes bearing down on them.

"I have offered Kenshin a place to stay here," she interjected then – they would need to know, even if only so that she wouldn't have problems with the patrol officer of their area later on. Even someone as unconventional as Kaoru couldn't hope to miss the implications that living with an unmarried young man would have on others. So she was firm about the statement, daring them to contradict her when she had almost lost the dojo and something in her still hurt at the sight of Kihei lying unconscious in a puddle of his own urine. Yet another person who had lied, but the expected outrage had died almost instantly, replaced by grief at the game he had played with her affection and trust.

"Is that so?" Suspicious eyes focused on the swordsman's worn clothing and his tangled hair, liberally caked with dust and sweat. "And what was Himura-san's answer to that?"

She knew what they were getting at – and Kaoru was ready to give them such a blistering retort that it would likely leave them feeling disoriented for hours. Or crack them over the head with a _shinai_, if that likely didn't involve getting arrested for assaulting an officer of the police. But the words died a quick, sudden death as Kenshin reached out and gently touched a cloth-wrapped shoulder with his fingertips.

"This one has accepted Kaoru-dono's offer, for as long as she will agree to have a penniless rurouni such as this lowly person under her roof." Blue eyes glittered with some edge of mirth that seemed odd in the currently tense situation, as the little swordsman drew himself to his full height – not much when compared to Muraki's rather lanky frame. Whatever Kaoru expected then, it wasn't what Kenshin ended up delivering. She had though that perhaps he would be scandalized by the implication that he could do anything untoward as far as she was concerned – or maybe that he would simply laugh off the accusation.

Yet he chose to drop nothing short of a bombshell on all their heads.

"There will be two women living in this dojo, officer. The last time this one was among civilized people, that didn't seem to be a problem for the honorable members of law-enforcement."

They were all dumbfounded – the officers, Kaoru and one of the hapless idiots on the floor, who had gained enough consciousness in order to lift his head by a fraction and openly gape at Kenshin's back. For his part, the rurouni forestalled all questions – and quite likely an incoming explosion on officer Muraki's part, who was looking rather purple in the face – by letting out a soft, long-suffering sigh and then releasing the red gi from his shoulders. It had slipped down his back, left to rest over the blemished white of his hakama, still tucked into the lower garment. The first thought in Kaoru's stunned mind was that she had never seen a person with so many old, puckered scars liberally covering their torso and shoulders; the second was that there were _breast-bindings_ and the rurouni was reaching back to undo them, with slow, practiced moves.

When she was old and surrounded by a dozen giggling children, Kaoru would embellish this tale, turning it into a dramatic, theatrical shock on par with anything that kabuki was capable of. But even her wildest re-telling would never be too far away from the truth – from the shocked, open-mouthed stares and the red faces and the sight of almost a dozen men shouting _'Him__ura-san!'_ and _'__Moushiwake arimasen!'_ while almost tripping all over themselves just to get him – _**her**_ – to stop the motion before they all fell into dishonor at making a woman strip off her undergarments.

There was a tiny smile on the rurouni's face when she met her eyes then – not the flat, open expression of silliness or that smile which carried so many hidden regrets with it. No, it was a flicker of understated amusement at the expected reaction, the officers bowing and apologizing with their faces on fire until Kenshin grinned sheepishly and tried to calm them down with a wave of her hands and a cheerfully self-deprecating_ 'this one dresses and acts so much like a man that it's an easy mistake to make!'_

The rest was a daze in Kaoru's recollection of the evening – more apologies, Muraki-san looking like he wanted to have the ground swallow him up, Kenshin fluttering about and breaking the tension with silly smiles and hand-gestures that were far too wide and clumsy for someone who could wield the sword with such inhuman skill. The rogues were carted off one by one – in wheelbarrows and carts and wooden pails and whatever happened to be on hand, six men needing to support the unconscious mountain that was Hiruma Gohei. There were promises of more questions that needed to be asked – after all, not one of them truly believed that a woman could have defeated as many thugs all by herself, even while armed.

And in the end, there was only the two of them, Kenshin bowing to the retreating police officers and then turning to look at her. Kaoru's thoughts slid into sharp focus only on the tail-end of an apology – the rurouni now bowing deeply to _her._

"This one should have told you of this as well, Kaoru-dono, but there was no opportunity until now. This humble person is regretful for having you believe untrue things."

Later on, she would regret the gesture. But, in that moment, Kaoru's nerves were too frayed and her mind struggled far too much with a few pieces that just refused to fit together, no matter how much she crushed them against each other – _'Hitokiri Battousai'_ and _'playing a silly, inexperienced woman to to the hilt' _and_ 'looking not a day above twenty'_. As far as lies of omission went, it was the most innocent of the night and she had already accepted the one before it with great ease, but it all saw fit to come crashing down in that one moment. So she responded in one of the few ways that were truly familiar to a girl raised as she had been.

**"Baka!"**

Kenshin could have avoided that strike with almost careless ease – Kamiya Kaoru wasn't deluded enough to think herself that fast or skilled, especially not in her current frame of mind. The red-headed woman could have flowed around her like water around a smoothed outcropping of rocks...

Yet she sat still as the wooden plank in place of a _shinai_ had come crashing down on top of her head, throwing her to the floor with one high-pitched, prolongued _'oroooo.'_ Breathing hard, Kaoru glared down at her for a few moments, as it all sunk in. It was only a moment before she tossed aside the piece of wood and knelt next to the half-conscious woman, shaking her by the shoulders and berating herself for acting so rahly, behaving as if this was of her clumsy students, making comments on how good she happened to look in hakama and gi.

"I didn't mean it! Ack, I thought you were going to dodge something like that!"

Garbled laughter was her answer, as she glowered down at the woman with a brilliantly violet bruise on her forehead.

"If this one had known you would be so upset, Kaoru-dono, perhaps this one should have come in armor."

She didn't care - it was an odd revelation to have during such a moment, but looking down on those laughing, earnest eyes, Kaoru once again realized that she couldn't be upset with this rurouni ad her worn clothes that needed half a dozen good-sized patches. After all, hadn't she said that she didn't care about someone's past even less than a day earlier? So who was Kamiya Kaoru then, to begrudge this woman her unsaid things, covered by smiles and awkward gestures? Kenshin didn't often feel ashamed of herself, yet this was such a moment, as she once again berated herself for overreacting, grunting as she pulled herself up and yanked Kenshin right after her.

"Kaoru-dono-"

Funny how she could read the other's guilt-ridden tone so well after knowing her for less than a day.

"No. I told you I want you to stay here. I meant it, Kenshin – no matter who you are and what you keep to yourself."

Firm, steady. Her voice didn't shake as she met those surprised eyes – a sky on the opposite edge of a long dusk, the great Yokoyama Taikan-san would loudly and gaudily say after being plied with one too many bowls of sake in this very dojo, decades into the future, waving his hands and complaining that neither of the two women could sit still long enough for him to finish his damned painting. There was unexpected relief in those eyes at her acceptance, before it was quickly covered up by that smile that made Kenshin seem even ridiculously younger than she appeared to be.

"Domo arigatou, Kaoru-dono."

Kaoru quickly waved off that apology and launched into a tirade to cover up her own flustered state – "so just how old are you, huh? What do you mean you don't even know your own age?" There wasn't as much heat to the words as some might have expected –and even as the assistant master glowered in quiet incredulity at how young this strange woman must have been in the middle of that revolution, the old, reckless anger brought about by uncertainty eased its grip until she was hitching up the sleeves of her kimono and kneeling by Kenshin's side, bolting back what floorboards were still salvageable.

She could breathe freely again, Kaoru quietly realized, listening as Kenshin promised to fix her destroyed floor. She could breathe and she could let it all go, as was befitting an aspiring master of _katsujinken._

_'Another lie, chichioya,'_ she thought ruefully, remembering that catch in her father's voice. He had known, all those years ago – he had known one of the secrets of this gentle woman, who had been the most ruthlessly effective _hitokiri_ of them all. And as she smiled at Kenshin and received a smile in return, Kaoru found that she couldn't fault his reasoning for remaining silent.

* * *

><p><strong><strong>Explanations:<strong>**

_chichioya_ – father

_domo arigato_u – thank you

_katsujinken_ – translated as 'swords that give life.' The principal philosophy behind Kamiya Kasshin Ryu and other sword-styles that seek to use the sword in order to protect life and limit bloodshed as much as possible.

_Moushiwake arimasen_ – apology, very formal form

_Moushiwake gozaimasen _– apology, even more formal than the former

**Random Notes:**

Kamiya Kaoru is much more tense and ready to react in anger at this point of the story than in the manga, but this has to do with my interpretation of her as a person who greatly fears abandonment and lies (case in point, the Jin-e and Kyoto incidents). This fear is sometimes present to such an extent than it can impair the way she sees what stands around her before any assurance comes that she won't be left alone and she won't be lied to. Again, see her reaction at the beginning of the Kyoto arc, before she sets her head on straight.

_Officer Muraki_ – the police chief who we see most often contacting Kenshin and the other residents of the Kamiya dojo is named _Uramura._ However, he remained unnamed until the third and last arc of the manga, whereas the anime renamed him as _Muraki. _This story is based solely on the manga, but I took the name from the anime and used it for a police officer who will come into play when either Uramura or Saitou Hajime aren't available.

_Yokoyama Taikan_ – historical Japanese master painter who blended traditional art with Western techniques and oil painting. Born in Hitachi Province (later renamed _Ibaraki_ when the prefectures were created) in 1868; moved to Tokyo as a boy in 1878, which gave me the idea that he could have met the _Kenshingumi_ at some point while growing up. The fictional character inspired by him appears in some of the scenes written in the Kamiya dojo at the beginning of the twentieth century.


	3. from across time

**Disclaimer: **All characters and settings portrayed in this work of fiction belong to _Nobuhiro Watsuki_, _VIZ Media, Shueisha_. I'm merely fooling around with the characters and will put them back with as little wear and tear as possible.  
><strong>Collection Title:<strong> _.blossoms and shadows_  
><strong>Chapter Title:<strong> _.from across time _  
><strong>Character(s):<strong> Kobayashi Tokiko, Kobayashi Kentaro (original characters)  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T (PG-13). Rating may go up in later chapters.  
><strong>Prompt: <strong>_**fc-smorgasbord**_ prompt _.5 –- look beyond_.  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> These one-shots all take place within the same universe, only at different points in time, reason why I always make certain to note the place and time. This is a short detour in the (close to) present age, as several intrepid people work to make sense of their family history and piece together the confusing picture that was family life in the Kamiya dojo in turn-of-the-century Tokyo. Also, an additional note – the ending of the previous chapter has been re-written, because I really wasn't that pleased with it. A lesson for sleeping on things before posting them.

* * *

><p><strong>Tokyo, Heisei 3 (1991)<strong>

_'I'm going to go crazy like this.'_

Kobayashi Tokiko was at her wit's end. For all of its stifling bureaucracy, the Meiji era was giving her far less answers than she would have wished. Oh, ordinary names were easy enough to come by in the old census records – so many familiar names, Nakamura and Yoshida and Sugiyama and Myoujin and Sagara. Even a few Himuras, that had made her heart leap in her throat with a heady mixture of giddy glee and quiet dread at what she might find. Yet the names were useless without seeing the lines which connected them – and that was proving far more difficult than even she could have guessed.

Tokiko supposed that she should have expected this, though. Those were far different times, when women could easily die during childbirth, when the first Sino-Japanese war meant that so many good men went grimly to their deaths, leaving behind desperate widows and starving children. Sometimes, one relative or another was desperate enough to give up some of those children to the prospect of a better life, under the watchful guidance of someone who could keep them from dying of hunger. And in a true reflection of the age, some of the adoption papers neglected to mention the family from where those downtrodden children came, before they set foot in what she knew as her family's ancestral home, the Kamiya dojo.

Sighing, Tokiko tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and shifted a little in place, her knees protesting at the motion after she had sat still so long. The kimono's heavy brocade obi pulled her back straight and kept her from hunching too much, something that earned her gratefulness and her mutinous irritation in equal measure. She had been a young child when she had last worn the traditional garment, yet it somehow felt dishonorable to sift through Grandmother's past in clothes that the old woman had scoffed at until the very day she had died, more than a decade earlier.

Pulling herself out of her reverie, Tokiko resumed her perusal. Nothing laid out in front of her seemed to have any particular importance – more adoption papers and notices of death from turn-of-the-century Tokyo. Only one in particular caught her eye – the copy of an old death certificate, dated in the thirtieth year of Meiji. Her eyes and fingertips moved over the document, widening a little as the first connection seemed to stare her in the face. Tokiko's hand hovered over the adoptive parent's name – _Himura Kenshin_, the kanji burned into her memory by _obaasan_ and her stories while kneeling on the tatami, with the shoji left open so that the warm spring breeze could lazily waft in.

"_Oh, it was never a good idea to go against what Kenshin-kaasan would tell you to do, Tokiko-chan. Feh – she was never a spitfire like Kaoru-kaasan, but she just had that way of looking and smiling at you that made you want to crawl under a rock and die of guilt for going out to play with the neighboring children instead of finishing your chores. And then there was the time when Haru-kun brought home a drunk girl! I don't think I ever saw Kenshin-kaasan play the guilt game better!"_

Her grandmother's words, so oddly full of warmth and gentleness still lingered with Tokiko to this day. Her dark eyes continued to scan the document, delicate fingers tracing a path from that fabled name – _'would that I have known you, honored elder'_ – all the way to the child's name and the dates inscribed on the document. Her heart clenched painfully.

Himura Atsuko. Born in the nineteenth year of Meiji, the ninth month, _kugatsu_. Deceased in the thirtieth year of the same age, in the first month, _ichigatsu._

_'Eleven.'_ The realization was dim and almost throttling in Tokiko's mind._ 'She was just eleven.'_

A child taken from this world far too young – and one that served to finally make something settle in her mind, as one piece of the puzzle quietly slid and locked itself into place on the complicated tapestry that was the history of their family, so shrouded in mysteries.

_'Kenshin-kaasan was grieving when I was brought to the dojo, on a spring day. All of them were grieving, but I was only a few months old, so I remember none of it. Just that she sometimes looked so lost and heartbroken when she thought that none of us could notice. I think she even wanted to refuse a child once. Kenji-kun always said that Kaoru-kaasan ended up dragging her out of her grief and back to us. I should think that it took quite a bit to get through that thick skull of hers!'_

Those words said more than perhaps even her grandmother had thought to reveal at the time. Tokiko's mind raced with blazing speed, as she examined the fragments of information arrayed out in front of her. Without a full picture of those who had called the Kamiya dojo _'home'_, it was difficult to prove her theory, but she was beginning to suspect that Grandmother had been far too modest when she had told her all of this. After all, if the adoption papers were correct, her sharp-minded and rather waspish _obaasan_ had been adopted and named _'Himura Tokiko'_ just a year and two months after Atsuko's untimely death. Tokiko had no children to call her own, but something deep and primal within her was certain of one thing – if she had gone through such a loss, she would have quite likely clung for dear life onto the first innocent whom she could hope to protect from a similar fate.

In that moment, from across the years and weight of almost a century, she felt as if she finally understood at least a minuscule fragment of the complicated woman that had been great-grandmother Himura Kenshin.

"Are you still going through those papers, dear?"

Tokiko's head snapped up at that, heart fluttering wildly in her ribcage, seeming intent to bruise itself against her ribs. From the doorway, Kentaro smiled mildly at her, before making his way through the stacks of boxes and the mounds of old, yellowed papers stacked in precarious ways around the room. Taking a deep breath, the woman smoothed the creases in her kimono and then offered her husband a small smile.

"I think I'm finally starting to make some progress."

His own smile was a little too wide at that – and it only served to stir her suspicions as he knelt on the other side of the table and handed her a tightly-wrapped folder.

"And I think that I have one up on you now."

For a moment Tokiko could only stare at him in puzzlement, the urge to snap out an annoyed question warring with the sensible advice that had been drilled into her for the duration of her childhood and adolescence. Don't argue with your husband, even if he seems to be acting foolish. Don't reproach him anything in such a way that it might make him lose standing. The side of her that had been slyly nurtured by her elder namesake finally won.

"You should have said that this was a competition," she answered pointedly, taking the folder from his hands and watching as his eyes crinkled with the lines of barely-suppressed laughter.

"Oh, you can think of it that way if it makes you more productive, Tokiko-chan."

Even in her state of befuddlement, Tokiko couldn't quite keep herself from returning his smile, once again quietly wondering why she hadn't gotten to know this man more thoroughly before agreeing to become his wife. Even after eight months of married life, she was finding out new things about him, ones that left her wondering where the somber-faced businessman went when he wasn't dealing with the international financial markets.

"Well, aren't you going to open it?"

"Patience, dear. If you say you've found something interesting for me, I intend to savor it in full."

Tokiko could still feel his warm smile on her as she went about carefully ripping the seals and opening the folder, deft fingers clearing the table and then beginning to lay out its contents. There were only two items inside – a sheet with an assortment of names written out by a careful hand... and a worn-out, faded group photograph. Neither of these seemed all that important, but Tokiko's eyes went wide when she turned the photo around and read the elegant kanji on the back.

_'Eighth year of the Taisho period, fourth month,_ _shigatsu. April 1919, according to the Western calendar. This is purported to be the one of the very few and the very last photograph that features Himura Kenshin during her life. Observe the small woman in the third row, dressed in men's hakama and gi, sitting on a Western chair.'_

The rest of the writing had been faded out when some careless person had managed to smudge it with a wet fingertip, but Tokiko already knew by heart what it would say.

_'Himura Kenshin is believed by some historians to have been the legendary Himura Battousai, the hitokiri who assassinated a series of important Bakufu officials for the Ishin Shishi during the dark days of the Bakumatsu, before the fall of the Tokugawa Shogunate and the advent of the new era.'_

With her heart seeming to have stilled in her chest, Tokiko turned the letter around with shaking fingers, staring at the smiling faces. It was old and faded enough that plenty of the details hadn't been preserved, but she could still make out things that left her reeling and gave a crushing sense of _'this truly happened once, long ago'_, to her grandmother's sometimes unbelievable stories. A wooden washbasin could be seen in one corner, a pair of geta carefully laid out next to the engawa in another. Yet most of the photo's focus was drawn to the large group in the center – adults and teenagers and a few men and women during the years when their hair had turned silver and wispy. Tokiko was absolutely certain that _obasaan_ was somewhere among the young women in this picture, yet her eyes were inexorably drawn to the center, where she could see a small figure sitting on a Western chair, with a cushion placed behind her back. If she hadn't known better, Tokiko would have thought her a little old man with short, white hair and a face covered with the deep wrinkles of laughter around the eyes and mouth.

"She certainly knew how to smile, didn't she?"

Tokiko had been so engrossed in studying the time-worn, sun-burnt features of her great-grandmother that she hadn't even sensed her husband crossing the table and kneeling by her side, leaning slightly in order to see the photo for himself. She glanced up, meeting his eyes and offering another soft smile.

"Yes, she certainly did."

Her gaze returned to the picture, studying the luminous features of that tiny matriarch, dwarfed by the tall young men and women standing on either side of her, yet still managing to draw the viewer's attention with her gentle, unassuming presence. Grandmother's words were clear in her mind, even though the old woman had always been loath to speak of the end.

_'She was very ill in those last years. Tokiko-chan. Kenshin-kaasan had pains and ended up using a cane as early as her thirties, according to Kenji-kun, but she often tried to hide her troubles from us. It... was impossible for her to do such a thing at the end, yet she kept smiling through it all and always told us not to bother with her when we wanted to help somehow. Kaasan was happy then, Tokiko-chan. We all made certain of that.'_

Even from across a century of war and strife and so much suffering, Tokiko could see the happiness, the peace and the quiet acceptance written clearly on the woman's wizened features, surrounded as she was by the love of her family, smiling with such bright intensity that the mirth crinkled her eyes shut. How impossible they sometimes seemed, those old stories of her carrying a sword and wielding it in battle. Of having once been one of the most skilled masters of the sword in Japan. Of having served as an assassin during the nights of a revolution long past.

"Wait..."

The moment was broken as she tore her eyes from the old photo with great difficulty, pinning her smiling husband under an intensely scrutinizing gaze, mind jump-started by a suspicious thought.

"Just _where_ did you find this?"

All he offered in answer was another enigmatic smile – and Tokiko was seized by the same maddening thought of half an hour ago, as she planned whether to forcefully pry the information out of him or leave him to stew in his own juices until he gave in and spoke willingly.

_'I'm going to go crazy like this.'_

* * *

><p><strong>Explanations:<strong>

_obaasan:_ grandmother

k_aasan:_ mother

_nineteenth year of Meiji:_ 1886 according to the Western calendar

_Thirtieth year of Meiji:_ 1897 according to the Western calendar

_ichigatsu:_ January

_shigatsu:_ April

_kugatsu: _September


	4. a ribbon for her hair

**Disclaimer:** All characters and settings portrayed in this work of fiction belong to _Nobuhiro Watsuki, VIZ Media, Shueisha._ I'm merely fooling around with the characters and will put them back with as little wear and tear as possible.  
><strong>Collection Title:<strong> _.blossoms and shadows_  
><strong>Chapter Title:<strong> _.a ribbon for her hair_  
><strong>Character(s):<strong> Himura Kenshin, Kamiya Kaoru  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T (PG-13). Rating may go up in later chapters.  
><strong>Prompt: <strong>_**fc-smorgasbord**_ prompt _.21 –- gentle warmth_  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Finally, a chapter written from Kenshin's point-of-view. Lesson for the ever-learning _rurouni:_ never think of even refusing one of Kamiya Kaoru's gifts.

* * *

><p><em>And he heard me say,<br>"Oh, he doesn't, he doesn't understand  
>I don't need riches to make me care;<br>Just a ribbon for my hair..."_

**Bent – A Ribbon for My Hair **

* * *

><p><strong>Tokyo, Meiji 11 (1878)<strong>

The waters were almost as wild and turbulent as her thoughts – the seemingly quiet, gentle river transformed into a fierce, raging torrent, threatening to sweep away everything in its wake and drown it in murky depths. She was too old, too tired and too marked by loss for her thoughts to have quite as much ferocity as the river before her eyes – yet Kenshin could hardly pretend that she was thinking as clearly as she should be at a time like this. The _sakabatou_'s weight was an equally warm and icy comfort against her shoulder. It was the whisper of security so thoroughly ingrained within her spirit, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice... and the cold reminder that an implacable truth now stared her in face.

Kill or be killed. As it had been during those moonless nights long ago, as the _Ishin Shishi_'s guardian, striking freely in defense of her comrades once she had been freed from the shackles of commanded assassinations.

_No._ Not so. She took in one slow breath through her nose and gradually let it out, allowing that brief flicker of old, predatory instinct to flow away, just as the sakura petals used to gently float down the waters of the Kamo river. Her thumb lightly caressed the tsuba's metal surface, prepared to free the sword from its sheath with one quick, light press. What she had told Sanosuke remained just as valid – there was a great difference between her and a man like Udou Jin'e and nowhere was that difference more apparent than in battle. She knew perfectly well what he had meant to say when he had hoarsely taunted her to get a real sword for their next encounter.

_'A hitokiri who willingly shackles himself like this can't hope to win against someone like me!'_

Kenshin had heard variants upon this general model more times than she could hope to count – and only her remarkable memory kept most of them as sharp and clear within her mind as the face of every single man she had slain with these bloodstained hands. Disgruntled former samurai who had lost everything when the old world had come crumbling down all around them, men motivated by greed, by a desire for fame or by lingering hatred of all that had ever been connected with the _Ishin Shishi_; most of them had said the same things when they had seen her _sakabatou_ drawn from its sheath.

_If _they had seen it before being knocked unconscious. Kenshin had never been one whose heart thrummed for the anticipation of violence, yet even _she_ had grown weary enough to end most of those engagements as quickly as possible, if talking the other party out of their foolish intentions proved to be an exercise in futility. And it usually was – rage and a desire for vengeance eventually blinding even the most clear-minded man.

Another drawn breath, slowly, slowly released in the cool morning air. Yes, they were all correct, in a sense, even if most didn't possess the sword-skill to follow their contempt to its logical ending. She was bound by an oath which kept her from the terrifying depths of depravity that Udou Jin'e had reached, just as it gave him that much-needed edge when their swords had crossed and he was able to fling her aside with far too much ease.

_'Can this battle even be won with a sword that does not kill...?'_

The stinging question hovered at the edge of her mind – and Kenshin had to glance at it, as much as she was loath to do so. Running away from the difficult facts had never served her well and now she knew enough of the world after so many sun-scorched years that it seemed utterly childish to even contemplate such a thing. The cold, hard truth was that she had no answer for that sort of question, couldn't even hope to make any prediction for the future until she and Jin'e weren't face-to-face again. There was only one certainty in her mind, surrounded by the raging, foamy waters of a swollen river – it didn't _**matter**_ if she could or couldn't theoretically defeat him with the use of a _sakabatou_ and a vow to never kill again. It was the only weapon that would ever be held by the unworthy hands of Himura Kenshin and she would do everything in her power to stop Kurogasa from hurting others... or from continuing to hurt himself.

It was the only thing that this lowly person could ever hope to do.

A quiet rustle behind her pulled Kenshin's grim gaze away from the torrent of water, as she quietly admonished herself for falling so thoroughly into one of her waking reveries.

_'He's here.'_

A gentle tap against the tsuba released the blade, freeing the first centimeter of gleaming steel from its confiding sheath. As expected, Jin'e had decided to strike near the river, where he could easily retreat should there arise a need to do so Very well – he would have his coveted battle, if such was the price for stopping all of this senseless violence. Kenshin's muscles carefully tensed under her skin as she prepared herself to move in the blink of an eye, to draw the blade in a motion as smooth as the flowing of air.

"Kenshin."

She instantly froze at that low, drawn-out voice, not even noticing the blade that sliced though the skin of her thumb as Kenshin's arm suddenly jerked sideways.

"I've found you."

_'Oro! She's scarier than Jin'e...'_

With her heart racing madly in her chest, Kenshin struggled to breathe and gather her lost bearings, too aware that the riverbank had suddenly decided to start swaying every which way. Kaoru's weight thumped none too gently next to her on the old, rotting tree and the former _hitokiri_ was certain that just about anyone could knock her over with a feather right then. Perhaps, she thought dizzily, Kaoru-dono should have considered espionage work alongside _kenjutsu_ training.

"I've heard from Sanosuke." Blue eyes were staring straight into the river, with the same intensity as her own gaze, only minutes earlier. "You're not coming back to the dojo. So I'm not going back either. I'm staying here with you."

_'Do you even realize what you're saying–'_

That thought was quickly smothered by something softer, yet equally laced with shock, as Kenshin did her utmost to stop anything from showing on her neutral expression. Not now – she couldn't afford to falter for one single moment, not when it could end up involving Kaoru-dono or anyone else. Not Kaoru-dono, with her innocent, sweet ideals and her courageous heart, making even Kenshin feel old and worn-out and so very jaded by comparison. With her thoughts still in turmoil, Kenshin did the only thing that she could hope to do in such a situation – turned slightly around and offered a small, hopefully ignorant smile, drawing on the many years she had needed to play the fool, the silly backwoods boy or the soft-headed day-laborer who could only hope not to poke out an eye with that silly sword of his.

"Oh? Did you have a fight with Sano? Or with Yahiko, perhaps?"

"_**That's not it!"**_

Kenshin had to offer the younger woman a good deal of credit – it took some restraint to keep herself from openly flinching at Kaoru's sharp tone. No use playing the fool, then – yet she had hoped for one moment that perhaps this situation could be diffused without heaviness or an admission of just how uncertain the outcome seemed to her. She hardly wanted to worry Kaoru-dono even more.

"You heard about Jin'e, then?" It just figured that Sanosuke was the _last_ person who could be counted on to keep quiet about all of this. Still, Kenshin was quietly grateful for her unlikely friend and his rather foolhardy honesty. It was for the best that the decision was taken firmly out of her hands, torn as she was between keeping Kaoru out of harm's way and potentially hurting her by lying. Even if only by pretending that no mass-murderer was after her.

"I heard, but I'm not leaving."

Only honesty, Kenshin silently decided, fingers tightening against the iron sheath of her sword.

"This one cannot possibly defeat Jin'e while protecting someone else." Of that much Kenshin was **_absolutely_** certain. It had once been possible to do battle to the utmost of her abilities while guarding the safety of others, yet that had been in a wholly different place and a very different age. It had been only in that time of mad justice, in the small narrow streets of Kyoto, when she had raced alongside her comrades, only to gradually slow her steps and allow the first pursuer to catch up, before striking him down with one smooth _battoujutsu_ in full motion. This was not Kyoto, not the _Bakumatsu_, nor or a time when she was willing to harden her heart into complete ruthlessness for the sake of her purpose.

Kaoru was quiet by her side for a moment – far too quiet, as Kenshin subtly studied the young girl. Dark blue eyes met her own and suddenly Kaoru was standing up with an air of complete and utter determination, smoothing the wrinkles in her kimono's heavy fabric with steady hands. Blazing in the late winter sun, the other's _ki_ buffeted Kenshin and the swordswoman could say nothing as she watched Kaoru undo the indigo ribbon in her hair with all of the resolve of one walking off to war. A smooth waterfall of dark tresses flowed down the girl's back and she shook them out with a quick movement of her head, before turning back to Kenshin and holding out the piece of cloth.

"It's my favorite ribbon. I'm lending it to you, Kenshin."

_'What...?'_

Half in utter disbelief, half wondering what Kaoru might be trying to do – _never underestimate a girl who can hit you with her tofu bucket from fifty meters away!_ – Kenshin stared up at her, squinting against the sun's glare shining in her eyes.

"This one cannot possibly accept..." Entirely the wrong thing to say, it seemed, as Kaoru saw fit to blast her ears off.

"_**Just take it already!"**_

"Hai, Kaoru-dono!"

Reflexively, her fingers reached out for the soft material, tightening around the offered ribbon before Kenshin could even fully process what was happening. She was left blinking owlishly up at Kaoru, far enough from those other days that the memory of a similar gesture – _'you need a sheathe to keep the madness at bay'_ – no longer assaulted her senses.

"All right? I'm only lending it to you. Be sure to give it back."

Kaoru was looking at her with fraying patience, waiting for an answer and obviously trying to discern what was happening behind those puzzled features. Kenshin uerself could think of no suitable answer for such a gift, glancing down at the ribbon in her hands, thoughts as chaotic and tumultuous as ever. Why would she...

"After you fight Jin'e, if you forget and go wandering again... I'll never forgive you."

_'She _expects_–wants a... promise.'_

Slowly, Kenshin allowed herself to smile as warmly and sincerely as she could possibly manage in this life, the expression lighting her features like a sunrise.

_'Ah, Kaoru-dono... Do you even know how easily you can make this lowly person promise everything in one's power?'_

"This one will surely return your ribbon, Kaoru-dono." Softly spoken, smiling brightly for the first time since Chief Uramura had walked through the dojo gates with his grim request. "So please return home and wait for its return."

The smile was returned and for a moment there was no worry gnawing steadily at her mind, no grief for those who had died by Jin'e blade – or for the _hitokiri_ himself, so lost in his blood-craze. Only some quiet understanding finally reached between the two of them.

"Let me put it in your hair."

"Oro?"

It was the second time that Kenshin ended up caught by surprise – and perhaps that had been Kaoru's intention all along, still smiling and looking at her with an open and entirely trusting gaze. A nervous laugh came out of the swordswoman's throat, as she rubbed the back of her head in a nervous gesture and thought about a way to strategically retreat without insulting the younger woman.

"I insist. Kenshin, I loaned it to you and I would like you to wear it." Those _shinai_-calloused fingers were patting the fabric of her kimono in a gesture of equal nervousness, but there was nothing uncertain in Kaoru's eyes, as she pinned the hapless _rurouni_ under a firm gaze. "It would look good on you."

What else could she even do? Letting out a soft sigh, a wry-tinged smile and a quiet_ 'hai, Kaoru-dono'_, Kenshin allowed the assistant master of _Kamiya Kasshin Ryu_ to step behind her and slip those same calloused fingers in her hair. She was old enough and weary enough to not shiver like a silly girl barely out of childhood, Kenshin told herself – yet that hardly stopped the tiny tremor that reached all the way down to her wrists when Kaoru managed to hook one finger in the leather strap holding her hair tied in its customary tail. It was one thing to undo it herself... and quite another to have someone else do the very same thing. The flutter of something sad and wistful passed over her features then; the last person to do so, innocently and with a small of apology for his boldness, had been this remarkable girl's honored father. There had been nothing to forgive – she certainly couldn't have hoped to pull her unruly mane of scarlet hair into its top-knot with one tightly-bound right wrist and two bullet-wounds in the left shoulder.

Still smiling, Kenshin closed her eyes and gently gathered that memory close to her, letting it mingle with Kaoru's soft touch. It would keep her from thinking of _another_ even before Kamiya Koshijirou, who had swept her hair up and set a lacquer comb atop it, in preparation for a festival. The younger woman worked with practiced ease, combing her fingers through the strands that gleamed bright orange in the morning sun, fanning out the hair over Kenshin's shoulders and then gathering it back at the nape of the other's neck. One hand pinned the mass of fiery tresses in place, while the other held the ribbon and began to wrap it securely. Once, twice, then the fingers of the first hand joined in, gripping the edges and forming the bow-knot with smooth motions.

Ah, if those she remembered could see her now! Kenshin wryly suspected that her current appearance would have incited a riot of hysterical laughter among the regulars of the _Kohagi-ya_, fearsome reputation or no.

_'Yare yare...'_

"There. That should do it." And she lightly patted the result of her work, earning herself a light chuckle from the swordswoman who had already raised the white flag, surrendering herself to Kaoru-dono whims – regardless if they happened to be wrapping her hair in a ribbon or making her carry most of the groceries when they returned from the market.

Turning around, Kenshin was suddenly seized with the impulse to freeze this one moment in time, if she could – with the weight of years seemingly lifted from her shoulders and Kaoru smiling with such happiness, her cheeks bright and lashes fluttering. If so simple a consent could make Kaoru-dono happy, then the lowly _rurouni_ Himura Kenshin wouldn't hesitate to grant it. She had once promised to protect someone's happiness, so long ago – and now that very same shred of selfless desire flitted at the edges of her mind. She couldn't quite reach for it, could barely see it, still intent on one day resuming her wanderings – yet Kenshin still found herself mirroring Kaoru's relieved happiness.

When had she forgotten how wonderful it was to receive someone else's smile for no life-changing favor?

* * *

><p><strong>Explanations:<strong>

_Bakumatsu:_ the revolution that brought an end to the feudal government of the Shogun and ushered in the rapid modernization of Japan.  
><em>hitokiri:<em> assassin  
><em>Ishin Shishi: 'men of high purpose', 'patriots'.<em> The faction which fought against the Shogunate forces during the Bakumatsu. Advocated a restoration of imperial rule and the expelling iof all foreigners from Japan.  
><em>ki:<em> fighting spirit  
><em>Kohagi-ya:<em> the inn temporarily used as a base of operations by the _Ishin Shishi_ of Kyoto, before it was borned down in the great blaze of Genji 1 (1864)  
><em>rurouni:<em> wandering swordsman  
><em>sakabatou:<em> reverse-blade sword  
><em>yare yare:<em> oh dear


End file.
